


And There They Were, Starting From Where it All Ended

by peppersnake



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, i wrote one part of this over 3 days and then the other 80 percent in like 2 hours lol, it isnt saying much bc this is my 2nd fic but dont @ me, ok deadass kinda proud of this, starts off with body swapped crowley and aziraphale btw :-), theres some ? borderline sexual content ? so be wary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 15:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppersnake/pseuds/peppersnake
Summary: “In the fairytales I’ve read, the hero enters the cave to slay the dragon. Not to join him.” Grabiel quipped with that shit-eating grin. It'd been described to him on many an occasion, albeit he could only really comprehend the absolute unadulterated rage it provoked until now.





	And There They Were, Starting From Where it All Ended

**Author's Note:**

> ok hi this is my 2nd fic ! feedback is appreciated i want to get better thank u :-) the opening starts w body swapped crowley and aziraphale in the canon events that take place

“In the fairytales I’ve read, the hero enters the cave to slay the dragon. Not to join him.” Grabiel quipped with that shit-eating grin. It'd been described to him on many an occasion, albeit he could only really comprehend the absolute unadulterated  _ rage  _ it provoked until now. And promptly, stepping into that intoxicating embrace that was the unholy fire, Crowley-as-Aziraphale saw it as a crime  _ not  _ to spit fire at him. 

* * *

Aziraphale-as-Crowley wanted to endure this moment of revenge for all it was, but often he found himself thinking  _ does Crowley always _ _ wear this many layers of black?  _ and  _ does he always wear pants this  _ tight _ ?  _ Still, he had the decency & care to remove his clothes before dropping into the tub. (Crowley could bark all he wanted about 'blundering across' designer clothing, but Aziraphale knew there was an unholy expense behind all his frivolous trendy clothes).

* * *

And there they were, starting from where it all ended. Hand in hand, seeing mirror images of themself metamorphose back into that of whom they love, settling themselves back into their respective bodies. Aziraphale readjusted his coat and tidied himself as Crowley stretched his jaw and bony limbs. 

"I now understand your frustration with that damned  _ tongue _ ," Aziraphale said with a chuckle as he fixed the cuffs on his sleeves.

"Disobedient thing, isssn't it?" Crowley proved, jaw winding as he was still refamiliarizing himself. At this point he's regressed to his former demeanor, elongated across the bench donning a menacing aura of savage bitterness laced coldly but sincerely with pure, innocent love. 

Both their hands itched to embrace the other, yet lingering in the air was still the events of everything—the absolute  _ absurdity  _ of it—and, of course, their body's awkward reacquaintance (or lack thereof). It was the angel who broke the painful yet righteous and thoughtful silence first, albeit he barely squeezed out a sound before Crowley was on him; legs snaking around soft hips, arms slithering around the smooth neck and into the delicate milky curls of the angel's nape. Aziraphale was also the first to break the closeness, and it was over just as quick as it had begun.

"Crowley, we are in the  _ middle  _ of London during  _ congestion _ !" Aziraphale asserted with shocking control and poise for having been currently pinned by a demon.

"Call it  _ rush-hour _ , angel, it sounds like you're talking about your bowel movements," The said demon replied, still emphasizing and slurring his S's. Then, in one swift motion, he had a hand on Aziraphale's clavicle and another on his jaw, lifting it just so as he could hover his mouth over the creamlike and tender area right under his mandible. 

A shiver ran through every nerve in both Aziraphale's human body and his metaphysical one. "Not  _ here! _ " He seethed, quite waveringly, the other deemed proudly.

"So, the bookshop, then?" Crowley dared, raising a bold eyebrow.

"Naturally, dear," Aziraphale responded with a bright smile, having fully regained composure now. He patted him on the posterior and Crowley indolently slinked off of him. And then, arm in arm, they strolled haughtily (and hastily) to the bookshop to continue their activities. They had just helped save the world (and each other's arses), they deserved a little break, especially now that they had all the time in the world. This thought crept in both of their minds as they made their way, though interpreted itself differently in the distinctive mindset of an angel and a demon.

"Mmh. You're upset." Crowley remarked, without ever letting his eyes even make their way over to him. Aziraphale hummed in fake confusion. "Don't play these games with me, angel. I know your strategy." He spat, although Aziraphale still frowned obliviously. Crowley's angular features softened and he slowed his pace. "Is it about ...back there? I was just being stupid, Aziraphale, I didn't mean to—" 

"—No, no! It's not that, dear I—_yes_, actually, I'm a bit upset that—but it's not—"

"What's it, then? Something I said? Something someone's said to you? Ooh, did one of those pricky bugger's look at you?" Crowley was snarling, completely making up scenarios in his head as he tended to do.

"Crowley,  _ please. _ None of this." Aziraphale placed his hand over Crowley's where he held his arm. "I'm just worried, is all. About, well, you know..." Aziraphale squinted upwards and nodded his head before frowning and straining his eyes downwards. Ah, yes. The universal representation of Heaven and Hell, as interpreted by someone with a minimal second-hand concept of impurity. 

Crowley scoffed, and even in the cold London air, Aziraphale could feel his frigid exhale waft over to him. 

"Angel, they can't touchss usss," Crowley snapped, his wrath taking precedence over his awareness of the lisp. "I  _ dare  _ them to try and separate us again." His voice was suddenly deep and serious, no hiss or change in tone existent, and it stirred something inside of Aziraphale. Crowley could be a bit possessive & protective, but he was  _ never  _ verbal about it. It was a rare occasion, but Aziraphale didn't ponder anymore on the subject. With that tone, he didn't challenge Crowley, he honestly believed him. A small, contagious smile made its way across the angel's face, and he spread it over to Crowley through a swift, firm kiss on the cheek. And, as one might expect, events...pursued.

**Author's Note:**

> (they fuck)


End file.
